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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28484499">Soldiers and Spirits</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daryl_Alenko/pseuds/Daryl_Alenko'>Daryl_Alenko</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Trope Challenge [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age: Inquisition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Cole Becomes More Human, Cute Cole (Dragon Age), M/M, Trope Challenge, no beta we die like men</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:54:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,275</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28484499</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daryl_Alenko/pseuds/Daryl_Alenko</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Pain. Fear. Following. The soldier calls to the spirit. Five times Cole helps Cullen, and the one time Cullen gets to thank him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cole/Cullen Rutherford</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Trope Challenge [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2086479</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Soldiers and Spirits</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first entry in a 30 day trope challenge!</p>
<p>First day: 5 + 1</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/>
<p>Haven is dark, despite the swirling green light in the sky. So much pain soaked into every inch of the ground. Piety so desperate for truth that a Dragon was believed to be a Prophet reborn. Both called forth fire, but neither were real. Not really. </p>
<p>Sometimes, he doesn't understand what he's saying, thinking, or even being. But he continues on. </p>
<p>Tonight, the dark memory of the ground makes him feel as if he's floating. Each step another cloud parting for him, pushing him further and further from his bonds. He is sure he will float right up, into the Breech. But then it happens. A single pearl of pain so much shinier, louder, than anything else. He can hear spirits pushing against the Veil, but they are like whispers compared to that Pearl. So, he winds his way through the snow, displacing very little in his wake. Sometimes, he still thinks he might not be real. That he will never leave a print. But then he looks back, sees the faint displacement of snow and remembers. He exists, no matter how many he makes forget. </p>
<p>He doesn't belong. Just like the Pearl. But they are both still here.</p>
<p>The sound of soldiers patrolling the edges of the frozen water are usual but still .. off. They are isolated in small packs, each cut off from the other though they are mere feet apart. Every one is mourning a woman they didn't know, and it confuses him. She was a symbol, a shiny lie, a holy icon but they all act as if they each had a copy of her to carry everywhere. As if they had spent every day with her, and now missed it. </p>
<p>He misses Rhys, mourns the mage even though he isn't dead, just gone. He -can- mourn Rhys .. they were friends. But these people .. they didn't know the shattered icon. So why mourn? He is not used to justifying his thoughts. Not used to having any real thoughts like these in the first place. His mind is a blueprint for helping, nothing more. But then he met the Inquisitor, walked through his brain on the heels of an Envy demon and maybe something from the Bright Man stuck to him, because he -thinks- now. Experiences.</p>
<p>He wants it to stop.</p>
<p>His steps take him to a small cluster of tents, and he can feel the darkness pooling around one of them. When he looks at the ground, there are shadow prints leading from the tent to a spot a few feet away, and then back. It's the path Commander Cullen walks everyday. It's the steps of duty. Inside the tent, the Commander is struggling, drowning in memory and pain and calling to Cole without realizing it. None of them realize it.</p>
<p>Except the sorrow. He calls loud and low, beckoning and banishing, silently begging him not to see. Or at least, not to speak. He understands spirits, envies and loves them. But he is also unbending in his belief of what they should be. Sorrow doesn't like what Cole is becoming. </p>
<p>He kneels next to the mouth of the tent, envisions it yawning. Becoming a gaping maw in which all happiness and tiredness are swallowed up, eaten and discarded. Dread emanates from the tent, Cullen's fear of falling to pieces reaching out toward Cole. That Pearl calling desperately for relief. He can do this. He is this. </p>
<p>Silently, he slips inside, disappearing. </p>
<p>For a split second, he is not here, but there. Back in the darkness where the Old Ways banished Mages and left them to die. Like the cupboard. He can feel the ghost of the blade in his hands, can taste the tainted question he asked too many before he understood that there are others ways to help. Death isn't always the answer. It isn't the way to help the Commander.</p>
<p>He will never be a demon again. Maybe the Inquisitor will help. Maybe he will kill him if he ever turns back.</p>
<p>Cullen is asleep on a collection of furs. The mighty lion whimpering. Cole doesn't understand why everyone doesn't gaze in awe at his lion face. (He doesn't yet realize that the Commander's helmet is not his real face. That the lion is a duty, a title, not Cullen's very being.) He hesitates, hand hovering above the sweaty brow of the human, watches as little strands of swirling blue reach up and out. He can feel the lyrium congealed in the blood. Can feel Cullen reaching for something older, stronger, long forgotten. He will never feel complete again.</p>
<p>"It's okay." He whispers the words, gives them a gentle push until they press against Cullen's head. Until they slip through his memory dreams. </p>
<p>When Cole closes his eyes, they are in Kinloch Hold, in the Circle. Cullen is knelt behind a glowing field of magic, hands clasped in prayer and supplication. Cole does not understand prayer. But he hopes it helps. </p>
<p><i>This trick again ...</i> Cullen's voice is tortured, tired. Collapsing in on itself. Cole wants to help. </p>
<p>"She saved you." He speaks slow and deliberate, fighting against the vision of demons dancing just outside the field, pressing against the cage with hungry desires. Cullen must be so very strong to have withstood. Cole has been a demon .. has accidentally preyed on the helpless while trying to help them. He had given in to the darkness, but not Cullen. The Commander stood strong. Ever the Lion of Ferelden.</p>
<p>"Amell appeared, your saving grace. Words spoken, too raw, too true, exposing a nerve they tried to play upon but you survived. You are stronger than you know, Cullen. The music, it is right, but not for you. The chains will break." His hand hovers for a moment longer before he leans forward just a little more. The tips of his gloved fingers ghost across Cullen's sweaty forehead. Instantly, the Commander calms.</p>
<p>That little Pearl that calls so clearly falters. Fades just a little. It's not gone, but for now .. it's enough. </p>
<p>Out of the tent he goes, appearing back in the snow and cold, already following another call.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Slipping .. passing .. proving ... fighting. He remembers the days of sibling rivalry. The day Branson watched with childish glee as his brother finally beat their sister at the game. So many hours of pretending to care, of shouldering the burden of supporting his brother through a game that made no sense. That bored him to tears. He would rather kneel in the Chantry, reciting the Chant of Light than stare at another chessboard. But for his brother, for that moment his eyes lit up when he was triumphant .. that was worth the torture. </p>
<p>Now, they are all whispers in the backdrop. Forgotten history that has fallen to the wayside, because the Inquisition outstrips them all. Sisters .. brother .. nephew, niece .. they are now just words fighting to be heard above the roar of the Inquisition. But, he doesn't understand .. why do the people in Haven speak as if it is somehow .. alive. The Herald is alive. Cassandra is alive. Varric, Josephine, Leliana .. Cullen. -They- are living, the Inquisition is just .. an idea. A spark of hope to close the Breech, but not living. </p>
<p>Humans are so much more complex and confusing than Spirits. He understands why the sorrow prefers them.  </p>
<p>The sounds of swords and shields clashing pulls him from his thoughts. He glances to one side, and sees The Iron Bull standing beside his tent. And beside him ... <i>The man they hurt coughs, shaking, but sits up. Eyes wide. No, not a man, a woman, clothes torn ...</i> Iron Bull calls him Krem. Cole likes him. He lies every day just by telling the truth .. horns up .. </p>
<p>Looking to the other side, a tent with a man and woman beside. Templars. One wishes to stay, one wishes to go ... but only if she goes with him. But she won't. Too much death. Too much loss. If she leaves, it has no meaning. If she leaves, the world is a cold, harsh place and all Hope is lost. Maybe if she fights harder, if she protects just -one- innocent, the war will change. Templars will make sense again. They won't. But he cannot tell her that. Her pain is not one that calls to him. </p>
<p>At the moment, it is that Pearl of pain again. Always there. Purring in the back of his mind. Not like the -other-. The hungry one. <i>The song behind the door old whispers want opened ...</i> That song is proof that the richest beauty can hold the deepest dangers. </p>
<p>Cole slips silently down the stairs, away from the gates to Haven. Were he to look down, he would be surprised to find that his feet sink into the snow, the recorded memory of his passing. As he puts each day behind him, he changes in little ways. Good ways. (He will never be a demon again!) Cole cants his head to the left, absurdly large hat flopping faintly in the delicate wind coming off the frozen waters. He must remind himself that the wind here is not the dank, tepid drafts of the Circle. He is not back in the dark. Or the cupboard.</p>
<p>"Raise that shield! Basics should be known!" Cullen is standing before his troops, Commanding. Calling out orders through the pain, the shake, the ache. If he snaps hard enough, loud enough, they will not know that the silence of the song is threatening him. If Cassandra has no reason to suspect, he can still be Commander, and not just Cullen. Cole doesn't understand why he cannot be both. The Commander and the Cullen. </p>
<p>Maybe it's the demons fault? Their questions broke something in Cullen and Kirkwall fractured it further. The red tried to replace the blue and maybe the only solution is to become colorblind. A Mage is a Templar is a Mage is a Spirit. Every one is right, but wrong, also. </p>
<p>The Chantry say that Spirits are all evil, that every Spirit embodies Man's sin. They are wrong. He is Compassion not Apathy. </p>
<p>The Mages say that they are harmless, capable of governing themselves without help. They are also wrong. How many innocents have died, caught between their bloody war for independence? How many Mages have fallen to possession, simply because they did not have the knowledge to resist?</p>
<p>The Circle must Reform, not Fall. </p>
<p>Sorrow is also wrong. He would have Spirits bound to their base form, unable to evolve and change beyond the descriptors he thinks they should be. Would have the Fade shaped by his will and whim alone. Cole likes him, truly, but there is a darkness there that reminds him of when he was a Demon. But real things cannot be demons unless possessed ...</p>
<p>"Put your back into it, or you can join the cleaning crew in the dungeons!" A snap of words, hooked and barbed, but clawing himself more than the recruits. He speaks out but aims his anger inward. The leash is loosened, though not yet broken. The chains still pinch and bind. Poor Cullen.</p>
<p>"Commander Cullen, ser." The new voice is soft but hard, like stone. An absence of light glimmers where she is supposed to be, but no one else seems to notice. "I have a message from --"</p>
<p>"Tell Sister Nightingale that I am busy. As long as we are taking in new recruits, there is much training to do. She can inform me of anything important at the next War Council."  Cole frowns. The Commander's tone and words have created a new voice of pain, and it is emanating from the messenger. That will not do.</p>
<p>Cole charges forward, momentarily forgetting that this is the Commander and not some demon or bandit that he's helping the Herald take down. </p>
<p>"Rosie didn't steal the apple tart, Branson did!" Cole practically snarls those words, moving to stand between the Messenger and Commander. The sounds of fighting immediately cease, all eyes turning toward him as he glares at the Commander. Who looks angry and dumbfounded in equal measure. </p>
<p>"What -- how did you --- what??" Cole's frown lessens as the Commander's anger does.</p>
<p>"Rosie didn't steal your tart, Branson did. You felt bad after you screamed at her, accused her. The Messenger didn't write the missive, didn't command herself to interrupt. Don't scream at her, or she'll be Rosie all over again." The Commander takes a deep breath as the words sink in. He runs his gloved hands down his face and relaxes. Cole instantly feels looser, more relaxed. Less in control. </p>
<p>"I am sorry for my anger, it was not deserved. Thank you for delivering the message." As the Commander holds his hand out to the Messenger, the Pearl shrinks, the woman calms, and Cole makes them all forget.</p>
<p>As he is walking away, as the sounds of clashing sword and shield resume, he absently wonders what it would be like ... to be remembered. But Spirits are meant to be heard, not seen.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Skyhold. A fortress fallen to near ruin, hibernating as it waits to be occupied once again. Solas lead the fallen Herald and his people to the fortress and Cole hates it. Because it makes everything .. difficult. The Veil is thin here, pressing in on his edges, trying to scatter his form and summon him Home. But it's not Home anymore. Not really. It could be, but .. he doesn't -want- it to be. If the Fade wins, if it summons him back, there will be no more "Kid," no more bright Anchor smiles from the Herald or long conversations with Solas. </p>
<p>The feeling of the thin Veil and the Fade pulling at him is why he decides to settle in the Herald's Rest. He can be alone in his little corner with plenty of people below to distract him from the Fade pressing in. The Iron Bull and Krem take up so much of the Rest. Their large personalities blanketing the tavern, making it feel just right. And any time Cole feels a little listless, a little untethered, he just listens to Maryden play. Her voice soothes in ways he will never achieve. Maybe she's a Spirit, too? And even Sara's hostility from the second floor helps drown out the Fade. </p>
<p>After telling the newly appointed Inquisitor that he wants to stay, he could feel it again. That single Pearl has become an itch just beneath his skin. Always clawing at him, pulling and snagging on jagged edges that will not go away. But he's doing his best. Chipping and chipping at it in hopes of obliterating it. He sometimes wonders if Cullen is the true reason he had come. Sure, he had somehow ... become Cole ... but maybe it was Cullen's pain that truly summoned him, because even when he is out in the field with the Inquisitor, he is somehow always aware of the Commander. </p>
<p>Like now.</p>
<p>He has been sitting on the high wall, watching the Commander commanding his troops down below. For now, the soldier has nothing but a small table in the lower courtyard to command from, but still, he somehow manages to own the entire area. He is larger than life in a way even Varric and The Iron Bull cannot achieve. Will he ever -want- to remember?</p>
<p>Cole climbs to his feet, the assassin easily walking the length of the wall, up to the battlements. He can feel the exhaustion surrounding the Pearl and he is now on a mission. </p>
<p>As the many builders and creators go about renovating Skyhold, Cole quietly borrows a few of their supplies here and there. He even manages to grab a desk that Josephine originally earmarked for the Inquisitor's chambers. The Herald wouldn't like the desk, anyway. It's much better suited for the Commander. Once every thing is in place, he perches on the wall to watch once again.</p>
<p>The rubble has been removed, the stables now in use. Blackwall has moved into the barn and begun to carve. Merchants are hawking their wares. But still the Commander is hunched at his small table, shoulders sagging with exhaustion. It's been several days, but he has refused to sleep. Cole can hear his fears from here.</p>
<p>Must be ready. Cannot be surprised again. Too many names on the scroll. Too many fallen because he was not vigilant enough. He failed. He failed. Their Herald nearly Fell because he Failed. </p>
<p>Cole wishes he could make every doubt go away, but that's not his job. He is not meant to clear the pains that do not call to him.</p>
<p>Once he is sure that no other soldiers, agents, or messengers are going to approach the Commander, he easily falls to his feet and walks across the courtyard to him. He is happy that the Herald plans to make a proper infirmary for the Surgeon. Though he is sad that they will need it. So many more will pass before they are through. </p>
<p>"Commander." Cole has a surprisingly soft voice. Varric has speculated that it's to mask who and what he is, but he doesn't understand what that means. He is who he is, he speaks how he speaks. He doesn't know any other way to do so. </p>
<p>"Cole? Was it?" Cole jerks in surprise, eyes widening beneath the brim of his hat. He .. remembers? Had he somehow managed to forget to wipe one of their interactions? Or, had the Commander decided, deep down, that he wanted to remember? Or -- "You're one of the Inquisitors companions, yes?" Oh. The Herald remembers, so the Commander is starting to. How odd. </p>
<p>"Yes." </p>
<p>"Is there something I can help you with?" The Commander is distracted, glancing between Cole and a pile of papers he's physically holding down on the table, and Cole frowns.</p>
<p>"Yes. No. I mean .. there is something I can do for you. Or you can do for me, if you follow." Cole turns on his heel and assumes the Commander will follow him up the stairs and to a door. The sound of heavy footsteps and the almost oil slick feeling of heavy confusion is the only affirmation he needs. He opens the door to the tower and steps to the side, ushering the Commander in.</p>
<p>Cullen's steps are wary, calculated. It is obvious the Commander is prepared to run at any moment. For some reason, that knowledge hurts Cole. The kind of hurt that he knows would call out to him, were it coming from someone else. But -why-? That has become the hardest question he asks these days ... why. So many questions he never had in the Circle.</p>
<p>"What is going on here, Cole?" The Commander's voice has changed. Lost it's commanding, soldiers tone. It is now nothing but tired and broken down. Cole can almost see the leash that binds those words, and he wishes that he knew how to break the Commander free once and for all. But he can't. Lyrium is .. beyond him. A lifeblood he simply doesn't understand. Not while he's like this. </p>
<p>"This is yours, Commander. A place. That belongs to you. Not a table or a courtyard, but a room. To sleep. To pray. To ... be." Cole frowns, looking around. He thinks he may be explaining this wrong .. or maybe -he- is just wrong. Maybe this isn't something the Commander actually needs, but something that he thinks --</p>
<p>".. thank you, Cole. It's perfect." The assassin spins on his heel, eyes wide when he sees the tired but bright smile on the Commander. He doesn't look blue, or red, he just looks ... like him. Cole tries to smile, knows it probably looks odd and foreign on him.</p>
<p>"Be at peace, Commander." This time, when he slips away, it doesn't occur to him that he should make the Commander forget.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Despite how long they've been in Skyhold, Cole has never ventured up here in the tower. He had been to the room Solas occupies on occasion, but had never ascended the stairs. Until now. He can hear so many voices, both here and beyond. </p>
<p>It takes some time for him to isolate the one he's looking for.</p>
<p>Dorian is ... interesting. He has so many small pains that lead to big regrets. He is a tapestry of tainted beauty and try as hard as he might, Cole cannot help him. Because Dorian doesn't -want- help. That makes him unique in some ways. Every one that Cole has come across has -wanted- help. Wanted the pain to go away, to be healed. Even sorrow truly wants help, though he won't accept it. Dorian just doesn't -want- it. The pain is a cloak that keeps him safe, no matter how bad it gets. </p>
<p>Cole likes that Dorian doesn't need him, because he thinks it might mean they can be friends one day. But that's not why he's here now. He thinks Dorian needs to be friends with someone else. Someone specific.</p>
<p>"Dorian." He calls out the name, approaches the alcove where Dorian often sits, cautiously. He doesn't expect anger, but even those he works beside, sometimes are not happy to see him. They fear he has come to pick a scab they'd rather leave alone. Sometimes they are right. The Inquisitor kicked him out of his chambers yesterday for just that reason.</p>
<p>"Ah. Cole." There is a note of wariness in the Mage's voice, and Cole must restrain himself not to pick. Dorian is in pain, because a man wanted to recreate him in his image, no matter what Dorian wanted.</p>
<p>"Blood magic was not the answer. You are you. I like that you are you. He does, too, even if he's being wrong about it." Dorian stiffens for a split second, before going a little limp in his seat. He looks .. a little relieved .. a little annoyed ... he looks like Dorian. Cole is glad for that. </p>
<p>"I .. thank you, I think. Is that why you're here? To talk about my father? Because the Inquisitor beat you to it." This makes Cole smile. A rather new sensation. He has felt happy when he helps, when he fulfills his purpose, but this is a new kind of happy. He finds that he is happy to be around his friends. </p>
<p>"I am glad the Herald helped. I .. am not here for you. I am helping someone else. You need each other. Knowing one another won't end the war, but it will help you both find peace." Dorian's eyes have widened, and he clears his throat awkwardly. </p>
<p>"Look. I don't know what you think you know, spirit, but you don't know it. I swear. The Iron Bull and I --"</p>
<p>"What? No. Not that. That is the wrong war. The wrong person. The Iron Bull does not need my help, but he does. And you can help me to help him. Please." He has begun to wring his hands, plucking at his long fingers in an awkward, unhappy way. He knows that he's not speaking right. Sometimes, he has the right words, but they are at the wrong time. Or he has the wrong answer to the right question. He doesn't always do it -right- and he hates that. But, he doesn't want to make Dorian forget and start over. </p>
<p>Like Cullen and the Inquisitor, like Varric .. he -wants- them to remember. </p>
<p>"And what do I have to do to help this person?" Dorian is being .. cautious. But not saying no. This draws Cole closer. His hands are thrust out in front of him, miming the moving of pieces.</p>
<p>"Just play. Play, and he will be better, and you will be better, and his pain will be smaller. Please."</p>
<p>"Okay ... more specific, please, Cole." Cole blinks, reviews his words, realizes he hadn't been as clear as he thought. He does not like that words are so odd now, that his thoughts must be vocalized rather than seen, as they had been in the Fade. That's the only thing he misses of that place. He much prefers it here. </p>
<p>"Cullen. Play chess with him, please." Dorian blinks in surprise, then laughs. It is softer than his usual acerbic laugh, and Cole thinks he may have done this right, after all.</p>
<p>"Oh! Is that all? Consider it done, my spirit friend. That will be the easiest thing I've done in quite some time, actually." Cole claps his hands together and reaches out, claps Dorian on the shoulder before turning to slip away. </p>
<p>He knows that Dorian won't forget him and that makes him happy.</p>
<hr/>
<p>The leash. Sharp, jagged, cuts and pulls. Frayed edges digging into his throat like sharpened spikes. The thirst, the need ... the pain. The ache. </p>
<p>Cole winces as the feelings wash over him. Cullen is suffering. He has come so far, done so well, but he is beginning to backslide. Cole aches for him. So much progress, about to be undone. Cullen is stronger than he thinks he is, he just needs someone else to see that. Needs someone to help him understand.</p>
<p>Cole stands at the bottom of the stairs leading up, into the chambers of the Herald. He vividly remembers being kicked out, the anger of being in here when he's not supposed to be. But this .. it is important. He's not here to poke and prod the Herald, he's here to help someone the Herald considers a friend. That is more important .. right? </p>
<p>"Herald." He calls out, voice cracking and he doesn't know why. He's not nervous, not scared. He is doing what he always does, so why did his voice crack?</p>
<p>"Come in, Cole." He ascends the stairs, looks at the dwarven bed and then the desk. Frowns when he doesn't see his friend.</p>
<p>"Herald?" The man enters from the balcony, looking tired and worn out. But he still burns as bright as ever. Cole likes looking at him. He looks like the Fade and sunlight. It burns so beautifully. Cole smiles. "Herald, the Commander needs you. He's in his office." Cole turns before any questions can be asked, leaving. The Commander had not -called- for him .. but Cullen -definitely- needs the Herald. </p>
<p>Even now, he can feel the Commander faltering. Knows that he has removed his draught kit and has it on the desk before him. He is falling. Faltering. The Herald can save him, where Cole can't. Maybe, finally, that pearl of pain will disappear. Maybe, finally, the Commander won't need him anymore.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Corypheus is dead. Once and for all. The breech is sealed, the sky is scarred. Cole is real.</p>
<p>Quietly, he repeats these words to himself. Dead. Sealed. Scarred. Real. </p>
<p>In the final fight against the would-be God, he hadn't been turned into a demon. Because he's -real- now. No longer what he was, but now, what he is. A strange concept. Sorrow had not liked it. Had been angry that he had thrown off the chains of being a specific spirit, and had become Cole instead. </p>
<p>The Inquisitor and Varric had been overjoyed. The Inquisitor had smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. Told him that he could be whoever he wanted to be now. He didn't understand. He's Cole. He has been Cole for as long as they've known each other, he's still Cole now. When the party to celebrate their victory had begun, Varric had urged him to drink and be merry. The ale tasted funny, but he enjoyed it as well. </p>
<p>However, he had not been able to stay at the party long. It was loud, bright despite the low lighting. It was too strange in the midst of his evolution. He felt as if he didn't belong. </p>
<p>That's why he's out here, sitting on the bridge between sorrow and Cullen's rooms. He has spent many hours here, kicking his feet, listening. Trying to see who will need him next. And now, it feels like his own little sanctuary. His buffer between himself and the partiers. </p>
<p>"Cole." The Commander no longer sounds tired or overwrought. He sounds .. proud .. happy ... warm. The leash is gone. Snapped, dissolved. Nothing left but the Lion's own light. Cole is proud of him.</p>
<p>"Cullen." He calls out, though his gaze does not shift from the barn beneath them. Blackwall ... he still stays there, the only Grey Warden left in the area, even if he isn't one. He has the heart of Grey Warden, that's enough for Cole. He thinks the real Blackwall would be proud that he worked so hard to help others. Helping is good. </p>
<p>"You know .. I believe that's the first time you've called me that in person." Cullen walks over to lean lightly on the bridge next to him, following the path of his sight until they are sharing the same view. "You should be inside, celebrating. You helped kill Corypheus, after all. This celebration is as much yours as the Inquisitors." </p>
<p>Cole knows that he helped, but .. it feels .. different. The Inquisitor deserves to be celebrated, not him. He's just .. him. Not a symbol. Or icon. Just .. him. </p>
<p>"I don't belong there. If I mess up, I can't make them forget me. I can't --"</p>
<p>"Cole. No one wants to forget you. You are our friend." Cole jerks at those words, finally tearing his gaze away from the barn. Are they? Friends? The Commander barely knows him! How can they be?? "Does that surprise you?"</p>
<p>"I ... yes. You ... are we friends?" Cullen tilts his head, a small smile playing on his scarred lips. Cole is not expecting him to reach out and tentatively touch his shoulder.</p>
<p>"Yes. We are. I would not have ever thought it possible ... I have been hell bent on not having friends for so long. But .. I found some rather ..... interesting things out, Cole. You've been helping me."</p>
<p>"Yes." It doesn't occur to him to lie or dodge. Maybe, after he's been more human for longer, but not yet.</p>
<p>"Dorian told me .. that it was you that suggested we start playing chess."</p>
<p>"Yes. You both hurt, in so many ways. Some different. Some the same. You needed each other. He was happy to help and I'm happy that he helped." Cullen's smile grows a little brighter. </p>
<p>"You also sent the Inquisitor to me when I was at my lowest. When I was considering the lyrium once more." Cole's hands twine in his lap, plucking at each other as he tries not to remember how badly Cullen hurt then.</p>
<p>"Also yes. I couldn't tell you to stop. To believe in yourself. I was just .. me. But the Herald ... it is what he does. Help those that need it." He had been proud of the Herald for doing what he could not. Just as proud as he was of Dorian and Cullen for helping each other. </p>
<p>"Cole. You are an amazing person." A person. That word, it makes Cole smile. He feels .. odd. As if he wants to move closer to the Commander, but also as if he kind of wants to ... move away. (He doesn't realize that he is feeling shy.) For now, he remains where he is. </p>
<p>He forces his gaze back out, over the courtyard and barn below. He is, in no way, expecting what comes next. Cullen has quietly removed his gloves and tucked them into his sword belt. As Cole is looking away, he is moving closer. Inching down the bridge until he can lightly wrap an arm around Cole's shoulder. It's warm, heavy ... real. A kind of real he's never felt before. It makes his insides churn pleasantly. </p>
<p>"Thank you, Cole ... for everything you've done for me." Cole smiles warmly .. hesitates for only a moment .. and then leans into Cullen's side. </p>
<p>
  <b>Fin</b>
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